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03 December 2011

The Leatherworkers [Tier 13]

“This is just ridiculous,” grumbled
the orc, dropping her trowel in the mud. Her gloves were coated in a
thick, stinking layer of algae and mud, as was her entire lower half.

“You know how particular druids are,”
replied her companion. “Always looking for new ways to commune with
nature.” He continued to dig in the mud.

“Yes, but mushrooms? From the
Outlands?” She peered at one of the fist-sized, glowing blue fungi
she had extricated from the marshy lakebed. “They don't look so
special to me.”

“Eat one and find out,” suggested
the tauren. He only laughed when the orc flicked mud at him. “What
I wanna know,” he said, sitting back on his heels and gesturing
with his trowel,” is how they incorporate the plant matter into the
leather so that it changes when the druids shapeshift.”

The orc stabbed into the mud, rooting
for another mushroom. “Whatever it is, it's more magic than I could
muster. That's why I'm just a gatherer.”

The tauren waded into the shallows to
wash off the mushrooms he had collected. He exchanged them with the
orc, who handed him her haul to rinse while she wrapped the cleaned
mushrooms in waxed cloth.

The orc swung the bundle on her back.
“Let's go check the trap.”

They set off across the perpetually
damp, spongy ground, weaving among the comically tall mushroom trees
and glowing foliage. As they approached the clearing where they had
set the trap that morning, the tauren motioned for the orc to hang
back, then snuck on ahead.

Although the tauren was taller and
wider than her, the orc was again struck with how quietly he could
move. It was with roguelike, almost delicate steps that he crept to
the edge of the clearing to check on their quarry.

The tauren motioned the orc forward,
and she went to his side. In the clearing was a sporebat, placidly
eating from the mound of food they had set and completely missing the
fact that it was now entangled in their trap. The orc readied her
materials – a pouch of soft, rubbery material and a length of cord.

Before the sporebat could register what
was happening, the tauren had grabbed it and deftly flipped it upside
down. At his companion's questioning look, he explained, “It makes
them sleepy.” True to his word, the panicked thrashing soon resided
into minute tremors. The orc took hold of the sporebat's twin tails
and held them over the open mouth of her pouch.

“Let 'er rip,” she instructed the
tauren. He began to tickle the sporebat on the glowing sphere of its
underbelly, and in response, glittering spores puffed out of its tail
and into the waiting bag. “I'm curious as to how you discovered
this...method,” the orc said conversationally, trying to keep a
smirk off her face.

The tauren had moved on to the pointed
tips of the sporebat's tiny wings. The spores changed color. “The
locals keep sporebats as pets. Apparently they are quite ticklish.”

When the sporebat was all tickled out,
the orc carefully closed the pouch and stowed it along with the
mushrooms. The tauren righted the sporebat and gently cut it free of
their trap, then fed it a cracker before it floated away.

The orc watched this with amusement,
then summoned her wind rider, which gave her an appreciative sniff.
“I could do with a shower and a drink, how about you?”